


Shattered

by GuardianofFun



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcoholism, Drunk Nations, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attacks, slight FrUK hints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3971662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianofFun/pseuds/GuardianofFun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime's it's normal, but sometimes it really isn't. Sometimes there is no escaping the horrors of the past, the scars on your back or the blood on your hands. Arthur finds the answer, so he thinks, in the bottom of a bottle more often than not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to say I hope you enjoy the read, and to lemme know if it was any good - thank you!

Sometimes life would be normal. Arthur would attend meetings, talk with the Queen, wind Francis up and everything was as it should be. But not always. Sometimes he would cry out in his sleep, wake himself and fall to the floor. He would lie there, shivering, too frozen with fear to move. The sound of bullets ringing in his ears, the gut wrenching cries of young soldiers falling to their deaths. He gasped and sobbed at each face that flashed before his eyes.

If he was lucky, the images would stop after a few hours and he would pull himself up, stumble to the kitchen and drink himself to sleep. He'd wake to the same numb feeling that was so normal. He would pick each bottle up by the neck and swing it so gracefully that when it shattered against the wall the tinkering was almost a pixie's chuckle. He would hear it, a magical language he was constantly confused by. Laughter when the house was empty, screams whenever it got dark. Whenever he closed his eyes. Some might say he had gone mad, that is if anyone saw him. He would wake - after days of staying closed in by the circle of broken glass and whiskey - and pull himself up. Run the shower and stand under it until he could peel off the soiled shirt, throw away the tie that choked him and wash away the disgrace he felt. Then it was okay again.

Then it was normal again.

One night though, someone did see.

One night was after a busy meeting, was after a night in the pub with Francis and Ludwig and Alfred. There had been more of them earlier in the evening, but slowly, as the drinks trickled down throats, nations slipped out of the doorway, leaving the four blonde nations with an empty table and too many glasses. Arthur glanced around the table into the eyes of them. His lover, his bane and his undoing, all wrapped up in that terribly beautiful Frenchman. His son, brother and prodigy in Alfred, and his old friend and... old enemy? Ludwig, he would never unravel the feelings he brought.

Three sets of bleary, sleepy, bright blue eyes. Three of his many regrets.

Someone, probably the German, pushed them into a taxi, and someone else got them all the way to Arthur's bed. Arthur fell asleep staring into those baby blue eyes of America, his own eyes clouded with tears.

When he woke, heart beating to escape the confines of his chest. He was trapped in the arms of the young boy, strong arms that were choking him, pinning him to the - _table?wall?_ \- the bed and - _theyweregoingtohurtthem_ \- he couldn't breathe and - _they'redyingcan'tyousee_? - so he screams, loud and guttural and then suddenly Alfred's gone, rolled off into the darkness and someone else has their arms around him. Strong arms sit him up, holding his shoulders. A voice, close in his ears whispers.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm right here, do not be scared" Ludwig has him steady, and he turns to stare at him with bleary eyes and coughs to stop the pain in his chest. Arthur opens his mouth to say something but he can't work out what, all he knows is someone has finally seen him. He's let his guard down - but by the look in Ludwig's eyes, the care with which he is handling this, the shadows under his eyes - Arthur knows he has been here too. He falls into the mans chest and lies there crying. For a while nothing is said.

"Do you hear them? When you're alone?" Another voice. Francis has sat up, and his face is pale in the weak glow of Arthur's alarm clock. His eyes are dark. Arthur nods and Francis bites his lip. "Sometimes... Sometimes I try to sleep through it. But they wake me up, so I drink through it," and now Francis' fingers twirl in a flurry. "And when they still get through... Sometimes all you can do is scream with them," he says with a defeated grimace.

Arthur can hear Ludwig's heart thrum, fast as if just talking about them makes them louder. "Ja... But you don't have to do it... Alone," he adds, a large hand encircling Arthur's clammy one. They all three sit in silence while Arthur's breathing evens out, Ludwig's cool body a welcome contrast to his sweating face. As he moves to rise, that's when they hear it, all three of them. The muffled screams of the American boy who now lies on the floor, tangled in sheets.

Groans of "I'm sorry" float up to them. Hands claw at his chest, trapped in sheets that make him panic more. Short gasps come next. "No... Not him, please... Stop it... Please!" The boys eyes crack open, but he sees nothing. Arthur throws himself to the ground, fresh tears for the broken boy falling as he scoops him up. He presses a kiss to the young nations temple. "My poor boy," is the only sound, as Alfred slowly wakes, curled into Arthur once more.

What a sight, these shattered men.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't much to say about this one - it's been sitting written for a few months now, but I tweaked it a bit amd felt like I had got all I could out of it - I like exploring Arthur's character, and I think this is one of his possible lives, if tha makes sense. He's very interesting. 
> 
> Also I got to have him up close and personal with Ludwig so it's win/win! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! <3


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